This essay is made possible by readers like you. Consider forwarding it to a friend or sharing it on social media to support and grow the publication.
When I was growing up, my dad had a corporate job. It was the consummate, wear a suit and tie, commute into the city, and kick your feet up with a box of Triscuits when you come home corporate job. He rarely talked about work, except when we visited one of his former colleagues while on vacation in Maine. He had a cabin on a lake and suggested we come up one summer to see if we liked it. I was 5 the first year we went. We rented a cabin just down the street from and we repeated that trip for 15 years. Every year, we devoted at least one evening to catching up with him, and this is where I got my fill of war stories from their time working in the city.
But when I was in high school, the company went through some changes and my dad was let go. He landed on his feet and everything worked out, but in a conversation we had years later, he told me something surprising. He said he often felt ill-equipped at work, despite being useful, resilient, and resourceful. I wasn't there, so I can't guarantee he was those things in the corporate environment, but he's like that for everything else so I think it's safe to assume he wasn't dicking around in his office sharpening pencils and making paper airplanes all day. He said he felt like it was always going to happen as if they finally "found him out" for not living up to a standard too far beyond his zone of competence. After intimating this, he openly wondered if the entire episode was a self-fulfilling prophecy, during which he adopted a nagging fear he was expendable, and when his tenure ended, his suspicions were confirmed.
At the time I thought it was odd that someone as competent as my dad could view himself in such a dim light. However, there's something correct about continuously operating in that "I'm out of my depth" mode. I'm not sure my dad appreciated how constructive and healthy his outlook was. Humankind's default pattern is one of growth. From the collective all the way down to the average individual, getting better is the norm, not the exception. This is why hobbies exist. Quelling boredom is merely the byproduct driven by our natural tendency to learn and master new things, thus expanding our experiences. But what happens when we try a new thing for the first time? Most often, we suck. We feel out of our depth. Incapable. Ill-equipped.
So it's a shame he felt in any way responsible for his departure because there's likely nothing he could have done to prevent it. It's the nature of large corporations for the sacrifice of entire divisions to occur when changes sweep through. So while he may have attributed the change to something he wasn't doing right, that feeling of "not quite good enough" is the exact lens through which to properly view ourselves. Believing we might get shit-canned at 4:59 on Friday is a great motivator if used properly. The key is to let the belief wash over us like a light glaze, as opposed to caking it on thick. This way, instead of crushing us under its weight, the glaze becomes a layer of improvement that builds on itself over time. Each layer represents a little piece of development. Eventually, when we stand back and look over the whole, we'll see something full of texture and depth. So if you find yourself feeling inferior at work, you're in the right place. Get comfortable.